


Bitter Cold of Memory

by curiously_me



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugs, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3615996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiously_me/pseuds/curiously_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A newly resurrected Jason Todd deals with his lack of memory and the strange pull he feels towards one particular man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fanart of [amnesiac Jason]](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/105330) by jncera. 



> This story was originally written in February 2012.

For him, his life started in a graveyard, as he dug himself out of the ground, fighting the clinging grasp of packed dirt.

He has no way of knowing where he's going in life or who he can trust to help him get there.

When people walk past him they don't see another human being, they see something beneath them and move away. Maybe they know and that's why they step quickly away to avoid him as best one can in the crowded streets.

When he thinks about remembering, he finds that he is utterly terrified at the merest hint of memory in his mind. He is afraid to learn about himself and find that person lacking. To find himself unworthy. But the desire to remember who he was never leaves him.

In the beginning, it isn't just the pedestrians that avoid him, but the other people on the street as well. Something in the way he carries himself, the way his eyes take in absolutely everything around him, keep them on edge and give him a false sense of security. But he can feel their fears ebbing, creeping away with the light as night comes once more to the city, embracing it in a blanket of darkness.

It should be oppressive, he thinks, but he loves the night and the freedom it gives. Unlike most of the people he's come across, he seems to have an innate ability to hide in the shadows; an ability that has saved his life on at least two occasions already. The darkness feels like home to him.

He reads the signs and the newspapers and comes to the realization that the name of the city, who's streets he's calling home, is Gotham. It's a fitting name, it sounds old, but in a stand-against-the-sands-of-time sort of way.

As much as he tries, as hard as he concentrates, not a single memory returns.

It's been eight months, by his best guess, since he rose from the grave and he's beginning to think that he didn't exist before.

He returned to the graveyard only once, about three days after he became aware of the world around him as it closed in and slowly suffocated him. There was no evidence of his struggle to the surface, into the air and fading evening light. The ground was pristine and someone had placed fresh flowers in front of the headstone and he hadn't been able to move them, to see the name engraved into cold stone.

He didn't stay. Didn't want to see this person who mourned a dead man that hadn't truly died.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life on the streets is in no way predictable. There's no way of knowing where your next mouthful of food or water will come from, if you'll have a place to sleep, or if you'll even wake up the next morning.

When he's fighting others for the last scraps of what have once been food or defending his claim on the spot of warmth in an alleyway near the vents of a laundromat, he thinks that surely it won't be long now. He has no past and no way to earn himself a future. He will have lived a short, miserable life on the streets and die a second time without a name to place on his next headstone.

Sometimes, when he's drifting into sleep, he'll hear the sounds of a body flying through the skies, cutting through the air with a sense of purpose he envies. When the sounds come close, he refuses to allow himself even a glimpse.

He can't look and he doesn't even know why that is. He just knows that if he were to look up, if he were to follow the sounds and confront the person behind them, then his world would change completely. He's not sure if he can handle that and he's afraid to even try.

For a number of weeks, there is a second body flying alongside the first, larger one and a knot of jealousy curls tight in his chest. That person shouldn't be here, fighting alongside the creature of the night. They left and shouldn't have been accepted back so easily. He knows that for a fact but doesn't know why he feels so strongly about it.

And then, the creature, person, is back to being alone. Just like he is. It feels like they are living their lives in a strange parallel to each other and he finds the feeling is almost a comfort.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If he were to bet on it, he would lay serious money on his knowing about the stalker long before the night creature did. The boy was terrifyingly good at navigating both the streets and the fire escapes, scaling up the sides of buildings with his camera and backpack as if he was part animal. But the kid started to become reckless in his attempts to get just one more shot and now he finds that can't walk away and let the kid be killed just for his shoes.

"Thank... thank you." The kid gasps, voice raw and scratchy from being held against the wall by an arm across his throat. He's staring up as if he'd just been rescued by Superman, eyes wide with something like hero worship.

He grunts in response, not wanting to encourage the kid. He doesn't need a stalker of his own; it's hard enough to watch his own back and the thought of trying to keep this kid safe on the streets makes him sick to his stomach.

He ignores the unconscious bodies of the kid's three attackers and turns to walk away, hoping the kid will take the hint and go back home. He hears the sound of light footsteps following along behind him and sighs. It's too damn late to deal with this and if he doesn't make it back soon, someone else will have claimed his spot at the laundromat.

"Hey, um, if you wanna, you could come home with me? My parents are away again, so they won't know, and I'll just bet you'd love a hot shower and some real food, right? Maybe some warmer clothes, if I can find anything that'll fit."

The kid continues to ramble as he, rather masterfully, steers the both of them in the direction of his house. He decides this kid, Timothy Drake (Tim, to his friends), is far too trusting. But he's also very lucky to have picked one of the few desperate souls from the street that won't take advantage of that trust.

Following the kid into his house is like walking into a dream and he finds himself staring around at the wealth clinging to every surface. It's not outlandish, like he's seen on the televisions or in magazine, but the family obviously comes from money. Something of what he felt must have shown on his face, because Tim immediately starts to make excuses.

"Yeah, it's a bit much, isn't it? I keep trying to get them to donate something, like the Wayne's always have, but my parents think that riches are for the rich." Tim rolls his eyes so hard it looks like he's about to lose them in the back of his head.

"They really are ignorant, sometimes." And he sighs as he leads the way into the massive kitchen and starts setting out enough food for twenty people. Tim doesn't stop talking, going on about his life and school and why he's out every night with that camera.

He watches as Tim finishes making a stack of sandwiches and moves to the stove to stir the soup he'd put on to heat up, wondering if anyone has ever taken the time to listen to everything the kid has to say.

"Hey, can you even talk?" Tim asks, looking a little ashamed at only now realizing, "You haven't said anything since you stopped those guys, thanks for that by the way. I don't even know what your name is and I can't just say 'Hey you' all the time, can I?"

But before he can even form a reply, the admission of not knowing, a voice, deep and broken, comes from behind the both of them. From the shadows near the open window he should have noticed when he walked past it.

"Jason."

The name sounds like it's tearing it's way from the man's throat, fighting tooth and nail to get out into the air, not caring at all for the damage it may cause in it's bid for freedom. It's the feeling he had when he dug himself out of his own grave.

"Holy shit, Batman!" Tim says, jaw hanging wide. He's dropped the pan of soup in shock and is lucky it hadn't been on the stove long enough to get hot because it's mostly on him now.

"Language, young man." And that voice belongs to the 'other' sound, the one that had been intruding. Another man steps forward into the light, and he (Jason?) sees that he is almost as tall as the first but no where near as muscled, slender and probably fast as a whip.

Neither of the costumed men before him are people he wants to tangle with, not even if he was at his best, and he's starting to panic, looking for a way out. He looks around the room without moving his head, searching for an exit back onto the streets where they won't be able to find him... at least he thinks (hopes) they won't be able to.

"Both of you?!" Tim's voice has gone high and a little squeaky. He would tease the kid, if the situation didn't feel so very much like it was life or death.

The first man, the creature he's been listening to in the night, steps forward and he finds himself cringing away, terror creeping up his spine in icy trails.

"Do you remember me?" The voice is one he thinks he's dreamed about, but in the morning he never remembered the words, only the sound of the voice.

He doesn't know, can't piece together a single memory about himself, but apparently his mouth hasn't been made aware of that fact as it opens of it’s own accord.

“Bruce.” The name comes out on a gasp and he can feel tears escaping his eyes as he’s engulfed in the man’s arms, wrapped up in the black cape that feels so very familiar as it falls across him.

He's not aware of much outside of Bruce’s murmuring in his ear, but he thinks he can hear the slender man (Nightwing? No, that’s Dick, he knows it is, remembers the face and the man) steering Tim into the next one. Always the thoughtful one, their Richard. He probably learned it from Alfred in some super-secret classes whenever Bruce was away.

Bruce's murmuring has moved from comforting words to just repeating his name over and over again as tears stream down the older man's face. When did the cowl get pushed back?

"Jason." That's his name, who he is and where he's come from. With his name he has a future, something to work towards. It sounds like a life-saving gift coming from Bruce's lips.

"Jason." And like Bruce has found the one thing he'd been missing. Like Bruce can see right into him, see all of the bad and still find the good and manage to somehow love it all regardless.

"Jason." The sound of his name, watery but happy, is the sound of the home he's been dreaming of since he woke to a world of nothing.

He's going home with Bruce, he knows it in his bones.

Back to the Manor where Alfred will be baking fresh-made cinnamon rolls in the kitchen and Dick will be reading a magazine while hanging upside-down from the chandelier over the table. He can see Tim slotting right into place as if always belonged, sitting at the kitchen table diligently working on his homework. Bruce will have just woken up and joined them, holding onto his mug of coffee like a man starving for it and he will turn to Jason, seated right next to him, and smile.

"I'm glad you're home, Jason."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this is as good as the first chapter, but writing it gave me FEELS and I thought it only right to share them with y'all.

Dick willingly took on the role of peacekeeper between Bruce and all of the people that the man has drawn into this world. Even so, he has absolutely no idea how to handle someone coming back from the dead. He'd seen Jay's broken body and had known that there was no chance of saving him.

Jason Todd was dead and Bruce Wayne had been devastated beyond measure. Batman had lost his Robin and Nightwing lost his Little Wing. But now he's back and Dick doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

"Hey, come on, kiddo. Let's give them a moment alone." Dick says, reaching out and throwing an arm across Tim's shoulders. He steers the kid out of the kitchen and into the living room where they both take a seat on the sofa.

They sit for a few long minutes, listening to the muffled sounds of crying interspersed with quiet words from the kitchen. Dick glances over at the kid and sighs heavily before speaking.

"I think we should discuss this habit you have of stalking masked vigilantes through the city." He begins. "Do you have anything to say in defense of actions?"

Not that he isn't damn impressed with this kid's talents. Tim had managed, for who knows how long, to stalk not only the Batman, but two Robins. In addition he had far too easily figured out how Nightwing factored into the picture. He's lucky that he didn't get himself killed out on the streets of Gotham, either from some accident caused by overconfidence or one of the many criminals looking for easy prey.

Tim looks away, face turning a light shade of pink in his embarrassment at being asked about his nightly ventures, but he doesn't say anything.

Dick smiles a little. "How's about we start with when you got into voyeurism?" He asks, and his grin widens when Tim looks back at him, mouth hanging open in astonishment.

"Voyeurism? You think I get some kind of... pleasure out of this?!" He looks stricken at the thought. Dick chuckles and reaches out his arm out again, using it to pull the kid into his side, so they are sitting next to each other instead of having a sofa length of space between them.

"Nah, you're way too smart for that to be the case here." Dick reassures. "But I really do want to know how long you've been at it."

"Um, well, probably since right before your parents died." Tim admits, voice just barely above a whisper, as if he's not sure he can bring up such a painful subject. "I was always a big fan of the Flying Graysons and was so excited about the circus coming to town. We'd had tickets for months and I remember being on the edge of my seat for the whole performance... It was amazing.

"When Robin started appearing alongside Batman and I saw some of things he was doing to show-off and to distract the bad guys, I recognized the acrobatics from the performances. I knew it was you and it wasn't that big a leap to figuring out who Batman really was after Bruce officially adopted you.

"I didn't mean to cause any trouble." Tim says, sounding worried as he glances back towards the kitchen.

"You didn't, Timmy, I promise. In fact, you may have done the one thing no one else could."

"What's that?"

Dick huffs out a laugh, feeling tears building in his eyes when he answers. "You showed the immovable Batman how to hope again. I have no idea how you managed to find Jay, but you brought someone lost back to us from the dead."

Dick finds that he can't help himself, he's always had a tactile personality, and he holds Tim even tighter against his side. He's trying not to cry. With Bruce having a (healthy) breakdown in the kitchen, someone has to be the strong one tonight.

"Just... thank you for that. You have no idea how grateful we are to you for this."

There's no way that Tim can not feel the way Dick's holding in his tears, but he doesn't say anything about it and they let silence settle over the room once more.

The kitchen is quiet and when Dick looks through the door, he can see that Bruce has lowered himself and Jason to the floor. They haven't let go of each other even the tiniest bit. The image before him makes his heart ache in his chest, makes Dick want to go right over there and get some hugs of his own.

He's missed his Little Wing.

Bruce looks up, face tear-streaked and open in a way Dick hasn't seen in years.

"Dick." He says, but that's enough to have Dick on his feet, pulling Tim back into the kitchen with him as he goes to Bruce's side.

When Bruce holds out his hand to them, Dick looks to Jason before reaching out. Jay's got his head pillowed against Bruce's chest, but he turns his head and gives Dick a small smile. Dick gets his wish for hugs as he and Tim settle on the floor, leaning against the other two men.

Batman's cape is spread out around them, creating a barrier that keeps the rest of the world out, allowing them the time they need to start to accept the surprises of the day.

Alfred had insisted, by some miracle, that they locate the boy that had been following them and have a word with him as soon as possible about his activities. "After all." He'd said, "You wouldn't want the poor child to get hurt while he's all alone on the streets, now would you?"

The guilt had been more than enough to have Bruce and Dick suiting up and making their way to the residence of one Timothy Drake of Gotham City.

Fate was, on occasion, a cruel bitch. But, sometimes she could also be one of the kindest beings in the entire world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you have even the smallest hint of fear or anger inside your heart or mind, Gotham will tear you into so many little pieces.

When he manages to fall asleep long enough to dream his dreams are nearly always bad ones, from which he wakes screaming.

Sometimes they are so utterly and completely terrifying that he can't wake himself up and the few times someone others managed to wake him from the nightmares, he wasn't truly awake. It was like he was dreaming even while awake and that was almost worse, if he were honest.

He knows that most people who have night terrors, like he does, don't remember what they dreamt about in the light of day. He isn't that lucky.

When he's scooping cheerios into his mouth at breakfast, the motions remind him of digging his own grave with just a small gardening shovel. He can't see the person forcing him to dig his final resting place, but he knows that they are there, standing just behind him and that he has to keep digging.

When Tim hands him a stack of books from one of the high shelves in the library, standing on the ladder just for that use, he can almost see the coffin being lowered in next to him. He can feel the satin along the insides as he allows the box-shaped prison to settle on the bottom of the hole he's dug. The lid is open, beckoning him to step inside and lay down... to accept the inevitable.

Hoping to escape anything that will remind him of his nightmares, Jason retreats to Batcave, planning to distract himself with data entry. It can be a tedious task, but it needs to be done in order to keep information on the city up to date. Also, staying caught up on the paperwork keeps Oracle happy which, in turn, makes everyone happy.

His plans are completely derailed when he sees Bruce and Dick are working out, using the punching bag and trapeze respectfully. The sound of Bruce's fists pummeling the sandbag combined with Dick's body hitting the net as he practice falls is an exact match for the dirt hitting the closed lid of his coffin.

Jason can't move. He's standing, completely frozen, just barely outside the elevator door. He knows, just as every other inhabitant of the Manor does, that if the elevator doors are blocked open for too long the alarms will go off, indicating an intruder. But even that knowledge isn't enough to make him move even the few inches it would take to allow the doors to close behind him.

Jason is trapped inside his own mind, as it plays it's cruel games with him. He's reliving each and every moment of his nightmares; digging his own grave, helping to lower the coffin in and settling inside it, watching as the lid closes, and listening in the dark as he's buried alive.

He can't breathe, is unable to draw in the air to plead for help, and he thinks he's actually going to die for real this time.

"Jason?" He thinks he hears Tim's voice come from his left, where the stairs are.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason can see Dick coming toward him at a jog. "Hey, J? Come on, man, you're scaring us!"

"Jason?!" Bruce's voice is harsh, but Jason can hear the fear behind the stern tone in his adopted father's voice.

A sharp pain across his face shocks Jason into breathing again and he gasps in lungful after lungful of sweet air, trying hard not to choke as he does. Someone is steering him towards the infirmary, a strong arm wrapped around his waist as he's pulled along.

He had known that he wouldn't be able to hide just how much he was affected by his night terrors for long, but he hadn't wanted to appear weak after finally finding his way home. He never wanted Bruce to think he couldn't hack it on the streets. He had to be out there, fighting his way back to sanity at Batman's side.

While Tim had taken up the mantle of Robin, training almost nonstop with Bruce, Dick, and Alfred, Jason had been spending his time coming up with his own identity in the superhero world.

He couldn't be Robin anymore, they all knew it, and when Jason continued to flinch away from the old style uniforms, the memories of old pain far too close for comfort, Tim had suggested a redesign of the Robin suit at the same time they were planning Jason's new uniform.

But with this apparent mental breakdown, Jason can't imagine Bruce allowing him out on the streets of Gotham. Not when he can't trust Jason to do the job and to keep himself distanced emotionally from everything they have to do.

If you have even the smallest hint of fear or anger inside your heart or mind, Gotham will tear you into so many little pieces.


End file.
